


Whisky Lullaby

by Celia_Bowen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, im not really sure about where this goes, just go with it, leading to end!verse, maybe more charcters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celia_Bowen/pseuds/Celia_Bowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After becoming what he hates most in the world dean flicks the switch on his humanity and that leads to ambition. Mainly ambition to sit on the throne of hell and destroy those who stand in his way. However, can the righteous man ever truly be evil and what is he willing to sacrifice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whisky Lullaby

The sound of a voice drifted to where they were standing. Just outside the opening. Just close enough to hear and just close enough to smell the smoke rising from the pillar candles.  
His brother.  
“I swear to god Crowley! There is no place you can hide from me! No corner of the world where you will be safe”- a sniffle-“So come out and face me like the man you once were!”  
Sam was crying now.  
Dean thought whether he could remember crying. The feeling of having such intense emotion that you could not physically keep it in. He couldn’t.  
“Well, that’s my queue…” the shorter man rasped next to him.  
Grunting in understanding, he turned so his back was pressed against the shelves of the bunker and away from the opening of the dungeon door.  
Dean watched the smug expression replace the unidentifiable one that had rested there since he woke and turned away as Crowley sauntered into the place where his brother was. Where his little brother was drunk. No. Angry. No. Ready to give his life to save Dean’s. Stop!  
Sam turned quickly to the sound of footsteps from behind him and saw only Crowley, a knowing smile plastered on his face.  
“Turn him back.”  
“Sorry, no dice moose.”  
“I said, TURN HIM BACK!” Sam’s voice reverberated off the walls and the look on Crowley’s face turned serious and he snarled back:  
“I CAN’T! No one can now. There is no way- trust me I checked. Despite your glowing opinion of my deceptiveness and cunning, the situation we are currently in is not exactly one that benefits me entirely! And that makes me very nervous.”  
“What are you talking about? What situation?” Sam stepped forward. His whole body was tense. Crowley could see the tears in his bloodshot eyes; the creases in his shirt and could smell the whiskey on his breath.  
“The situation where your brother is gone. The co-dependency situation – well that’s one for the psychiatrists.” He retorted, suddenly feeling very heavy. Between fighting Abbadon and worrying about the next ruler of heaven he had forgotten his fondness of his two favourite punching bags. And although it wasn’t affection, he wasn’t sure he was capable of that anymore, something deep down inside him wanted Dean to be with his brother. However, something more to the surface of his mind wanted the same thing. He needed Dean to be a human again for two reasons. Number one:  
Sir Dean, the good knight of hell was now officially one of Lucifer’s chosen and, however much power he has from loyalty, Crowley was not. Dean threatened his throne and the only weapon that could stop him is the one weapon that he can’t wield.  
Number two:  
Human Dean is flesh and blood and desperately easy to capture. Should he need to. And with everyone’s favourite mass murdering, angel, cult leader topping opinion polls left right and centre he’s guessing having the leader of the opposition’s pet human handy can’t be a bad thing. It’s all politics after all.  
Sam studied him carefully.  
“Fine. If you won’t help me – or even tell me what is going on- I guess I’ll have to go to plan B.”  
“And what’s plan B, small fry?”  
“I’m going to summon death.” Sam turned back to his ingredients and looked around the room collecting ingredients. Crowley stood there, dumfounded by the words.  
“Death? DEATH! Have you lost your bloomin’ mind! Death doesn’t negotiate- not with you, not anymore. What good would bringing him into this do? He’ll just kill you!”  
“And if he does then I’ll be lighter by one less burden.”  
“So you can spend eternity floating around the halls of this place- stuck in the vale? You’re being a ridiculous child-“  
“That’s what he would do.” Sam said agonisingly calm. “That’s what he would do.”  
A cough sounded from the shadows behind them. A figure appeared and stepped forward out of the shadows.  
“I thought I had warned you off summoning me. I have had enough Winchester drama for a lifetime – and considering I live forever…”  
Sam looked down at his shaking hands as he spoke.  
“It’s Dean, he’s-“  
“I know what he is. And I know what you think he is.” Death spoke. Watching Sam’s face as his riddle perplexed him.  
“I am so confused and so tired. I just want- I just want my brother back. Finally it was going to be good. It was going to be the end of the constant trials and bad guys that came at us. Finally we were going to relax and take a breath but now- all his breaths are used up and I can’t- I just can’t live like this-“  
He broke down. His war hardened face crumbling revealing the scared little boy who relied on his brother to survive. Death considered him for a moment before speaking again.  
“I take things away.” He began, moving towards the shelves full of non-descript hunters items. “I have no history in giving things back-“  
“Please you gotta help him-“  
“Shut up. I said ‘I have no history in it’. However, I am one for the truth. As terrifying as it may seem I have three truths for you today. The first is that you brother is not dead. The second is that your brother is more lost to you than if he had died on the floor of that warehouse.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Look behind you…”  
Sam reluctantly turned his head and saw it. The shell of his brother was silhouetted in the entrance of the crowded dungeon. He stepped in to the light and Sam was met with the deep inky eyes of his brother, his confused brother who was writing his own story now.  
“I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m your brother, Dean.”  
“What happened?” Sam’s words came out hushed and weighted with emotion.  
“I died. From what I remember I died in your arms. But it feels like a long time ago so it’s difficult to get the details right. What I do know is that an angel killed me.”  
“Yeah, Metatron, he – a- stabbed you in the heart- Dean-“  
“No, not Metatron! You think I wouldn’t remember being stabbed in the heart?” A humourless laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m not talking about that angel I’m talking about the one who was supposed to break the tablet. The one who was supposed to help me! The one who left me to die so he could play leader to the rest of the winged apes! That’s the angel I’m talking about.”  
Crowley looked over at Dean and didn’t see him His face was the same, but his voice was laced with bitterness and his body was held with nobility and power. This was not Dean any longer but a threat. Like an insect with bright patterns on its skin, this Dean had the appearance of someone out for blood.  
“Castiel.” He lingered on the name. Speaking it with such revulsion the room cringed.  
“He didn't leave you to die. He broke the tablet.”  
“Too little, too late. But its fine! I’m over it.” Said Dean with a noncommittal wave of his hand. “No, I’ve got bigger things to worry about. Like what I’m going to do with Castiel’s head when the armies of hell storm the gates of heaven and restore some sanity.”  
“What do you think you’re doing, boy?” Crowley called to him as he wandered to the exit.  
“What does it look like, Crowley.” He hopped around to face them. “I’m gonna go howl at that moon.”  
And then he was gone, leaving only the sour smell of sulphur in the air and the sour taste of shock and bitterness in their mouths.  
“Well, I do love a bit of drama but that was a bit much even for me.” Death spoke up, a look of detachment on his features.  
“What was the third?” Sam said through clenched teeth.  
“What are you talking about?”  
“You said there were three truths- tell me the third.” His tone getting more aggressive.  
“That would be me.”  
All three of the men turned to the voice and were met with a young woman. Her hair white and worn up, she wore ripped and grass stained jeans with a white top. She regarded them with a smile unbefitting of the atmosphere in the room.  
“I am the way, the truth and the life.” She recited. “But you can call me Chuck.”


End file.
